black market baby shoes
by hey.moon.hello.goodbye
Summary: Or: Noah Puckerman, Love, and Letting It Go.


**b l a c k m a r k e t b a b y s h o e s **

_(or: Noah Puckerman, Love, and Letting It Go)_

--

One month and twenty six days before his life came crashing down, Puck learned what love was.

It felt like a symphony of crashing lips and fingers tracing the slight contours of ribs. It sounded like the quiet sound of her breathing, and it looked like window above the futon in his attic with a clear view of the stars. It tasted like wine coolers and cupcakes and her.

He looked at her while she slept and he knew no other girl would ever be able to compare.

For that next month and twenty six days, he held the secret inside of him. He imagined it living in his rib cage, between his lungs and his heart. There, in his chest, it festered quietly, until she walked up to him in the hallway and said those two fateful words:

"I'm pregnant."

--

Before they were feeling hands and hungry moans and starry nights, they were Puck and Quinn. They met on the playground in third grade when Quinn was on the swing Puck wanted. He pulled on her pigtails and she hopped right off that swing and smacked him in the chest.

And he's been sort of in love with her since.

--

Quinn tells Finn that he's the father and Puck is pissed. Finn gets everything, damn it: he gets the popularity and the adoration and Quinn and the goddamn baby that Puck is starting to like. She's starting to show and she tells her parents, who promptly kick her out.

She stays with Finn, and that's just the icing on the cake, now, isn't it?

--

It's a Sunday morning at some ungodly hour (actually, it's eight o'clock, but who cares) and Puck is driving slowly down Finn's street in his red pickup, searching the sidewalks for a pregnant blonde.

(She may be pregnant, but Puck knows that won't keep her from church on a Sunday.)

Finally he spots a blonde with braids and a baby-doll dress and pulls over. "C'mon, Quinn," he calls out the window, "I'll give you a ride."

She hesitates, and he rolls his eyes. "Get _in_, Preggers," he says firmly, and because she's Quinn, she rolls her eyes back and opens the door.

He starts driving and turns down the radio. "Listen, I've been thinking." He pauses to gauge her reaction: nothing. "We need to tell Finn."

"No." She shakes her head but doesn't look at him. "I'm not going to lose Finn over some stupid fling that meant nothing."

The words hurt more than he expects, and he wants to pull over and shout at her, _You want to stay with Finn because he's safe. Because he will leave you contented. Because you're scared._

They arrive at the church and he opens his mouth. "If you really loved Finn, you wouldn't lie to him. You'd tell him the truth. I want to take care of you and our baby. Let me." _Please._

She unbuckles and finally looks at him. Her green eyes are filled with tears and she says, "Thank you for the ride," and slides out of the truck.

The words _choose me_ are on his tongue as he watches her walk away.

--

Finn is a blur as he speeds into the room and tackles Puck to the ground. He's hitting him and Puck doesn't have the heart to hit back. He takes the beating like a man and keeps thinking _I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this._

Finn quits Glee and Quinn ends up on his front porch at seven that evening with a duffel bag full of clothes and a stiff expression.

He lets her inside.

--

Every night before he goes to bed, Puck watches Quinn. She writes something on a neat white square of paper and folds it, this way, that way, until it resembles a paper crane. She never completes the final step of folding down the wings.

She sees him watching but doesn't explain. He doesn't ask.

--

There are forty seven paper birds (crisply white, secret writing inside, wings unfolded) when he kisses her.

He's not sure why he does it, but she's sitting there with her brow knitted while she reads a chemistry textbook and he leans over the kitchen table and kisses her on the mouth.

Sarah walks in the room then and wrinkles her nose. "Ew, gross!"

Quinn's fingers land on her lips gently, as if pressing the kiss there. "If you bring me another piece of paper, I'll teach you how to make little paper birds, Sarah," she says, but she doesn't remove her fingers from her mouth.

--

Twenty three birds after the kiss at the kitchen table, the doorbell rings.

Puck glances out the window, leans to the left; he still can't spot who's at the door. He moves to the door and pulls it open to see no one.

He curses silently – _another damn freshman, thinks ding-dong-ditch is still funny, what a little piece of shit_ – before he sees the package on the doorstep. It's wrapped messily in plain brown paper, tied with a piece of fishing twine.

His first thought is _shit, bomb_, but out of curiosity he picks it up and brings it inside.

Slowly, he untied the twine and removes the paper. Inside is a pair of yellow baby shoes and a chicken-scratch note that reads _For Drizzle._

--

Eight days before her due date, Quinn goes into labor.

It's long and grueling and he's pretty sure he'll never regain circulation in his hands again, but Quinn gives birth to his daughter and she is perfect.

They hold her and kiss her and count her fingers and toes, and then they leave her in the nursery and go home.

Quinn showers and Puck showers and when he comes out of the bathroom, Quinn is putting month's worth of paper birds into a shoebox. She doesn't look up when he comes in, but continues flattening the little birds and placing them carefully away. "I wrote messages on them. For our daughter. This is going with her adoptive parents, and one day I hope she reads them." Quinn sits back on her heels and looks up at him. "There's one piece of paper left. I thought you might like to…" She shrugs.

He takes the crisp white paper and carries it to the kitchen table, being careful not to dirty it or crease it. Then, he sits for a long time and thinks about what he would say to his daughter, if given the chance.

He thinks about how much he loves her, and how much his heart aches when he thinks of how he will never know her. He wants to tell her that loving something sometimes means you have to set it free.

He thinks of all Quinn's paper cranes and their unfolded wings, poised, ready to take flight. He picks up the pen and writes, _may your hands someday turn into wings._

_**-fin-**_

_Authors Note: I'm sorry this was so out-of-character and awful. I will probably take this down later. _

_Title comes from the famous six-worded story: for sale: baby shoes, never worn. I also saw it somewhere and liked it. _


End file.
